


Did It For You

by MicrosuedeMouse



Category: Lemonade Mouth (2011)
Genre: Coda, F/M, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Making Up, cross-posted to FFNet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-10-08 14:54:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10389285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MicrosuedeMouse/pseuds/MicrosuedeMouse
Summary: What might have happened if Wen had chased after Olivia after they argued, instead of just letting her go.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Very simple missing/alternate scene fic. Wen's face at the end of their argument always really gets me and I want him to go after her EVERY SINGLE TIME (but strangely, he never does...). This is how I figure it might go if he did. Who doesn't love a little hurt/comfort?
> 
> Enjoy, and if you have a moment to spare a comment, it would make my day <3

Wen sat back down, heavily, at the table where they’d both abandoned their smoothies.

_“…I didn’t even wanna be in this band in the first place.”_

_“Then why did you do it?!”_

_“Oh, for you, you_ jerk! _” She coughed, then repeated more quietly: “I did it for you.”_

He put his face in his hands. “Shit,” he muttered. Why had he antagonized her like that? No matter what he was dealing with, Olivia was the last person who deserved to be treated that way. He hadn’t meant to take his frustration out on her. He leaned back in the chair and stared for a moment at the two smoothies. Then he cursed again and picked them both up, leaping from his seat and jogging out of the courtyard. “Olivia?” he called, even though he knew she had her bike and was probably long gone by now.

He ran about a block before deciding he wasn’t going to catch up to her that way. Swearing again, he glanced around and spotted a bus stop. If he remembered right, the bus that went towards her place ran every twenty minutes on weekdays. Juggling the smoothies, he dug in his pocket for his student pass and headed over to wait.

It was almost a half hour later that he walked up the driveway to her house. He didn’t really know what he was going to say if Gram answered the door. He didn’t really know what he was going to say at all. But he couldn’t leave off like this. He was still kicking himself. He knocked on the door, wracking his brains for any kind of apology that could even begin to make up for what an ass he’d been.

When there was no answer, he sighed heavily and looked around for a moment. The car wasn’t in the driveway, so maybe Gram was out. Olivia’s bike was dumped in the grass, which he figured meant she’d rushed inside, since normally she walked it around into the backyard. He hated realizing that he’d upset her that badly. He turned and pounded the door again. “Olivia!” Still no answer. At a loss, he sat down on the porch swing, putting the smoothies down on the little table next to it and pulling his sunglasses off. He’d put them back on on the bus when he’d caught a kid staring at his black eye. Normally it wouldn’t have bothered him so much, but he was ashamed of himself and hadn’t wanted to be looked at.

Desolate, Wen rested his elbows on his knees and put his face in his hands again, cursing himself. This had turned out further than he ever would have thought possible from what he had intended when he’d asked her a few days ago if they could grab smoothies sometime soon. His eyes burned.

A few moments later he heard a small sound and looked up to see her peeking out the open door. She met his eye and began to close it again immediately. “Olivia, wait!” he said desperately, jumping up and putting a hand on the door. She paused, but she didn’t open it again.

“Go home, Wen,” she croaked, and he could tell her voice was going. He’d been afraid of that. He’d heard it disappearing when she left, and nothing that had happened since could have helped.

“No, Olivia, please,” he begged. “I didn’t mean – I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have said any of that, it wasn’t fair. I couldn’t leave it that way. You didn’t deserve any of that,” he told her.

She turned to look at him again, opening the door slightly. Her eyes were bloodshot, her face wet, her breathing uneven. His heart broke. “Are you really giving up?” she asked quietly.

“No, I’m sorry, I should never have said that,” he told her quickly. “I was mad, but not at you, not at the band, I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

“I can’t… you’re so _frustrating_ ,” Olivia answered, frowning.

“You were right,” he said, running a hand back through his hair and wiping at his damp eyes. “Sometimes I don’t think before I talk. I didn’t think about how your life compares to mine, I didn’t think about how unfair I was being.”

“I don’t…” She closed her eyes and sighed heavily. “You’re allowed to not like what’s happening at home. I didn’t mean you have to wait for your dad to… to go to _prison_ before you’re allowed to be frustrated. I just…” She sniffed, swallowing hard, wiping her face. “It just seems like you won’t give Sydney a chance, and she seems so nice, and I feel like… you really have a chance at…” she trailed off, her voice growing thicker.

“Shit,” Wen said again. “Olivia…” She dropped her hand from the door as her arms went around her stomach. She was trying to stifle the sobs, but it wasn’t quite working. He hesitated for a moment, then stepped up to the threshold and reached for her shoulders, pulling her forward into his arms. Her face went into his shoulder and he held her close, rubbing her back as she cried. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he was murmuring into her hair.

After a minute she worked her arms out from between them and around his back, clutching at his shoulders. “Me too,” she rasped.

“What?”

“I’m sorry too,” she clarified, her voice scratchy.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he assured her. “This was all my fault, not yours. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Olivia’s nails scratched against his denim jacket as she gripped him even harder. There was silence for a moment, and then she whispered, “I feel like crap.”

“I’m so sorry,” Wen said again, trying to figure out how he could wrap his arms around her in such a way that he could envelop her completely, protect her, make her feel safe and warm and better. He held her as close as he could. “I didn’t mean to say any of that. I – I shouldn’t have let myself get upset with you. I never want to hurt you, Olivia, you mean too much to me.”

Her face burrowed further into his t-shirt. “Okay,” she finally said, so quietly he could barely hear her, nodding against his chest. She didn’t say ‘I forgive you,’ but he could feel it in the way she was hanging onto him, hear it in the tone of her hoarse voice, and he’d never been more grateful.

There was a long silence while they held each other, both long forgiven but reluctant to let go. Finally Wen leaned his cheek into her hair again and murmured, “I brought back your smoothie, but I don’t think it’s very cold any more.”

She laughed a little bit. “Thanks,” she sniffed as she pulled her face away from his now-damp t-shirt. She reached behind her to shut the front door, which had been hanging open behind them the whole time, and then she stepped towards the swing, pulling Wen to sit with her. He went willingly, sitting close and putting one arm around her shoulders, just trying to maintain as much of this contact as possible. She retrieved her smoothie from the table on her right – assuming the half-finished one must belong to him – and stirred the straw in absentminded circles, leaning her head against his shoulder.

He wasn’t sure what they were doing now, except that it was clear that neither of them wanted to be separated after all of that. He rested his cheek on top of her head and looked down at where she had pulled her legs up onto the seat, her knees leaning against his leg. After a moment’s hesitation, he put his hand lightly on her knee, his thumb brushing slowly back and forth against the rough skin there. “Can I ask you a question?” he requested softly, almost nervously.

Olivia nodded a little, trying to ignore the goosebumps that had sprung up all over her at his touch.

He cleared his throat. “I just – I just wanted to know,” he started slowly. “And it’s okay if you don’t want to answer. But I just wanted to ask what you meant when you said you joined the band ‘ _for you_.’” He lifted his hands just long enough to make quotes with his fingers. His cheek moved against her head; she knew he was looking down towards her a little.

Her face flushed and she continued to stir the smoothie slowly, thinking. She could claim she meant the collective ‘you,’ meant the whole band. Wen, Mo, Charlie, Stella. Knowing him, he’d accept that answer. But whatever was happening right now felt important, and if she had learned anything in the last few months it was to stick to her convictions once in a while. Hell, that was probably what had gotten her and Wen into this stupid argument, but that didn’t really matter now. “I meant,” she answered hoarsely, taking a long, shaky breath, “that I did it for _you._ ”

The thumb drifting slowly back and forth again her knee faltered for a moment, then returned to its course. “‘You’ as in me?” Wen asked.

She nodded again.

“Listen, Olivia,” he said slowly, “I’m trying _really_ hard to figure out if you mean you feel the same way I feel, because on Thursday when I asked you if you wanted to get smoothies sometime soon, I kind of meant it as more than friendly.”

“Well,” she whispered, “how… how do _you_ feel?”

Olivia felt his cheek leave her head, and she turned slightly to look up at his face, and if her heart had been pounding before, now it was beating its way out of her ribcage. She thought she’d burst from the expression on his face.

“I’m… fuck if I know, Olivia,” he said after a moment’s silence, exhaling. “I think I’m in love with you. I don’t know. I never stop thinking about you, I never want to stop looking at you, I want to be close to you all the time. I want you to be safe, and happy, and successful. I want good things for you. I want to give good things to you. I don’t know. I just know I’ve written a half a dozen songs for you and I haven’t shared them with anyone because I don’t think they’re for sharing, at least not unless you hear them first.” He ran a hand through his hair, glancing away.

She wasn’t sure, initially, whether she was still breathing. Whatever answer she had expected, it wasn’t quite like that. She wiped her eyes and then reached for the hand that still rested on her knee, gripping his fingers tightly. He looked at her again, searching her eyes, and she realized she needed to voice some kind of reciprocation.

“Wen, I…” She shut her eyes tightly, cursing her voice for choosing now of all times to disappear on her. She’d wondered if she was catching Mo’s cold when she felt the itch in her throat that morning, and then the anxiety attack she’d been having before she answered the door sealed the deal. “I feel the same,” she croaked, wondering why words had suddenly failed her when they had always served her so well. “I – I liked you when I barely knew you, and now…”

Wen shifted their hands so his could close around hers. “And now?” he asked softly, and she felt his breath on her nose, and she looked up at him and suddenly realized how _very_ close he was to her.

She shrugged. “Now it nearly killed me today when for a few minutes I believed you didn’t really care about me, or being in the band together, or anything,” she said.

His face dropped. “I’m so sorry, Olivia,” he said yet again, his voice pained.

“I already forgave you,” she answered before he could go on, squeezing his fingers. “You’re always on my mind, and you’re always right there next to me. Thinking all of a sudden that maybe you wouldn’t always be there felt like the end of the world. Maybe – maybe I’m in love with you, too.”

He looked up, and she held his gaze, despite her burning embarrassment. He let go of her hand and his fingers rose to her cheek, his other hand squeezing her shoulder where it still rested. “Can I kiss you?” he asked quietly.

Cheeks red, Olivia answered quickly, “No, don’t, I’m sick!”

He shook his head, smiling a little. “And I have a black eye, and I think we’re already a mess, and what difference does it even make at this point?”

“Wen…” She bit her lip. “I don’t _want_ you to get sick.”

“I really, _really_ want to kiss you,” he countered.

She tried to smother her oncoming smile, but she couldn’t. “Okay,” she finally answered.

So he did.


End file.
